Not Nine O'Clock
by tutncleo
Summary: Tony, Abby, A Boat, and Gibbs. Part nine in the "Home Is" series. Tony/Gibbs pairing implied.


"**Not Nine O'clock"**

_**You find your home, and it may not be what you thought - you know; colour's off, style's wrong... but there it is anyway and to hell with you if you can't take a joke.**_Brad Silberling for _Moonlight Mile_

"So I've been researching dogs, ever since you said you wanted to get one," Abby said.

"Yeah, me too," Tony answered.

Gibbs froze. Standing at the top of the stairs leading to his basement, looking down, he couldn't quite believing what he was seeing and hearing.

"Do you know Gibbs once called me a faithful St. Bernard?" Tony asked Abby. They were lying on the floor in Gibbs' basement, side by side, their heads and torsos under the frame of Gibbs' boat, a pair of denim clad and a pair of red and black striped covered legs sticking out - just like the Wicked Witch of the East's after the house fell on her in _The Wizard of Oz_.

"Yeah, but I think he got it wrong. You're nothing like a St. Bernard. They're big and hairy and drool all the time. I haven't seen you drool in _years_," she said. "I think you're much more like a Labrador Retriever. They're friendly, and everyone loves them. They're incredibly loyal. Labs are also mischievous, and need a lot of training, while St. Bernards are calm and dignified."

"Hey, watch it kiddo," Tony said, as he rolled over to tickle her. Abby shrieked with laughter as she scooted away to avoid Tony's onslaught. "Gottcha," Tony crowed, as his hands made contact with her ribs. "Say Uncle," he demanded, as he tickled her relentlessly, while she giggled helplessly, biting her lips to avoid surrendering. "Go on, say it!"

Gibbs could see the black and red striped legs thrashing about.

Finally, unable to help herself, she screamed, "Uncle, Uncle, Uncle."

"I think you'd be a Border Collie," Tony told her, as their laughter began to subside.

"Aaaww, I like them; they're pretty. Thank you Tony," Abby beamed over at him. "They're smart, too!"

"Yep, and also a little aggressive, OCD, and perform tricks for treats. Caf-pow, anybody?" Tony snorted, and then he began to laugh again when she reached over to smack him, which set off another round of tickling and playful slaps.

Gibbs had to stifle a laugh, not wanting them to know he was there yet, as he settled down on the top step, curious to see how far this would go.

"Ok, ok, Uncle," Abby gasped again.

"So, what kind of dog do you think McGee would be," Tony asked her. Gibbs saw his legs rolling to the side, as he turned to look at her.

Abby's knees drew up, and her right leg crossed over her left, swinging up and down as she thought about the question. "I think he'd be the world's tallest Basset Hound. He's got the sad eyes look down pat, and bassets aren't aggressive, and like to be played with."

"I'm not touching that comment," Tony smirked, "but I'd agree that he looks a little like one. He's even got that soft, skin fold thing going on under his chin," and he rolled out of her reach, before she could hit him again.

"What about Ducky?" Abby asked, as she settled back down, leg once again bouncing up and down.

"Got that one down. He'd be a perfect Kerry Blue Terrier. The book I read said they come in various shades of grey. They can be stubborn, are determined, alert, irrepressible and like to bark a lot, and God knows - Ducky likes to talk!" Tony said, cracking himself up. That set Abby off, and it was several minutes before either one of them was able to talk again. Sitting on the stairs, Gibbs was having a hard time not laughing out loud.

Once they had themselves more or less under control, Tony sighed, "I suppose we _should _get back to finding the cap for the bourbon."

Gibbs right eyebrow shot up almost to his hairline, and he stood silently so he could see his workbench. Sure enough, sitting on the countertop was his bottle of bourbon, _open_, and _considerably_ less full then the last time he'd looked at it. Well, _now_ he knew why they were under the boat, and so giggly.

"Relax," he heard Abby say. "You told me Gibbs wouldn't be back until nine o'clock, and it's only about seven now. We've got time to find the cap, _and_ have a couple more drinks. Besides, we haven't done everyone yet. What about Vance? What do you think about a Bulldog?"

"Well, they look right, with those bowed legs and sour looking faces. The temperament's all wrong though. I really looked into them – thought they might appeal to Gibbs. Did you know they're really supposed to be sweet and gentle? Don't think anyone would describe good old Leon that way."

Gibbs smirked as he sat back down. Tony had that one right – sweet and gentle were probably dirty words to Vance.

"How about a Pit bull then," Abby suggested. "Did you know they're illegal in some places, and in France, they have to be neutered by law?" she started giggling again.

"Just picture Vance walking around with a muzzle on," Tony choked out, as he too succumbed to another round of laughing as Abby barked out an indistinct, "DiNozzo. Where's Gibbs?" Gibbs almost lost it then, too; he knew she must have a hand over her face, mimicking a muzzled Vance.

"I'll drink to that," Tony exclaimed, and Gibbs heard glasses being clinked together, as Abby responded with a "Bottoms up!"

"What about Gibbs?" Abby asked slyly.

'Here we go,' Gibbs thought. 'I was wondering when they'd get around to me,' and he leaned forward, eager to hear what Tony suggested.

"That's a tough one. He's complicated," Tony mused. "There are lots of different sides to him."

"Yeah, his _left_ side and his _right_ side," Abby sassed, and with that, they were off again - tickling, slapping and squealing with laughter, until Abby said, "Careful, you almost spilled my drink. What would Gibbs say if he got home and I reeked of bourbon? It'd make him wonder why you were plying me with alcohol," she teased, laughing when Tony snorted in lieu of any other rejoinder. "Okay, back to Gibbs. What is his doggy alter ego? How about a Rottweiler? They're strong and brave," Abby suggested to Tony.

"I thought about that, but it doesn't quite fit," Tony answered. "They're too common."

"Heaven forbid we imply Gibbs is common. What about a Pointer?" Abby offered.

"That's closer. They're graceful, proud and hunt-oriented. But they can be too boisterous. They don't have quite the right energy," Tony said, rejecting the suggestion.

"Maybe a mastiff," Tony said thoughtfully. "They're one of the strongest breeds, and guard those they love, and their homes fiercely, but they can be gentle, too."

"Oooh - gentle too!" Abby giggled as she mimicked Tony. "I read they need a lot of exercise. Do you _exercise_ Gibbs regularly?" she asked.

And the war was back on. Finally, when Tony had a compulsively giggling Abby pinned to the ground, as he covered her with his whole body to hold her down, Gibbs couldn't resist interrupting. Standing up, he walked stealthily down the stairs. When he got to the bottom, he cleared his throat and said, "Something I should know about? Hope this isn't what it looks like!"

Abby shrieked and Tony jerked up, banging his head on the bottom of the boat. "Fuck!" he cursed loudly.

"I was _really_ hoping you weren't," Gibbs growled, knowing they couldn't see the amusement on his face.

Abby and Tony shot out from under the boat, covered in sawdust, their faces flushed, and their hair and clothes askew from the wrestling. Gibbs worked hard to keep from laughing, as he tried to scowl at them, his eyes sweeping over them, top to bottom, taking in their disheveled appearance.

"It's not what you think, Bossman!" Abby squeaked, at the same time, Tony was saying, "We were just looking for something."

"Oh?" Gibbs said, lacing his voice with doubt. "Under the boat?" He was amused to see them desperately trying to work through their bourbon impaired reasoning, searching for the words that would make everything clear to him. Something caught his eye when he glanced down, and he nearly choked on his own muffled laughter when he realized what it was. He quickly looked back up, fixing Tony with a glare, working to get himself back under control before either Abby or Tony noticed.

Deciding that honesty might be the way to go, Tony manned up. "We were having a drink, and the cap to the bottle rolled under the boat. We were down there looking for it," he said, giving Gibbs his best innocent, little boy look.

"My bourbon, I suppose? And you were on top of Abby because…?" Gibbs paused, waiting for the answer.

"We were just joking around, and got carried away. It ended up in a wrestling match. Tony had to cheat by using his size to win," Abby explained, her smile rivaling Tony's as a picture of innocence.

"And did you find it?" Gibbs asked.

"Find what?" Tony asked, clearly rattled, and not thinking clearly.

"The cap, DiNozzo – for my bottle of bourbon," Gibbs prompted, finding it harder and harder not to laugh at them, and show his hand.

"Oh, that cap. No, not yet Boss," Tony said, falling into his dutiful agent role unconsciously.

"Maybe that's because it rolled out from under the boat," Gibbs suggested, as he bent down and picked up the cap, which lay on the ground, next to his feet.

"That could be why," Tony agreed abashedly. Then, because he was Tony, he couldn't help but ask, "So, can I get you a drink, Gibbs?" with a twinkle in his eye.

"I'd better have one now, while there's still some bourbon left," Gibbs agreed, amused to see Abby visibly relax and bend back down to fish out Tony's and her glasses.

After drinks had been served all around, Gibbs said, "A Dalmatian."

"Huh?" Tony said, confused.

"A Dalmatian. That's the kind of dog I want. They remind me of you – good carriage, playful, energetic but a little high-strung, need constant grooming, and require firm, consistent training." When Abby burst out laughing, he finally allowed himself to join in.


End file.
